


Devilbod Devil Boyfriends Deserve TLC or: The Death of a Couch

by Katadactyl



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Devil Face (Lucifer TV), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Full Devil Bod, Light Dom/sub, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Season/Series 04, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 13:23:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20436737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katadactyl/pseuds/Katadactyl
Summary: In a future where Chloe and Lucifer have an established post-s4 relationship, Lucifer has a bad day. Therapy isn’t a straight line of progress, and self-hatred is a cyclical problem. Sometimes you can’t talk someone out of a bad self-hate day. Sometimes, you can only offer a distraction. Sometimes, that distraction is sex.





	Devilbod Devil Boyfriends Deserve TLC or: The Death of a Couch

**Author's Note:**

> Hope everyone out here in this Denny’s tonight has a friend to help out when their brain gets rough. Not... necessarily like this.

Detective Chloe Decker has a free night, a six-pack of beer, and a boyfriend.

Granted, her boyfriend is the Devil and the six-pack is just Corona she won off their lab tech last Trivia Night, but Lucifer keeps saying “follow your desires,” and she’s doing her best. She’d finished her paperwork earlier than expected at the precinct, and he’d left after lunch for his therapy appointment. He usually spends nights after therapy thinking deeply or drinking deeper, and she usually leaves him to it. Tonight, though, she’s off work early, has some drinks, and is going to surprise her boyfriend with her company, damnit.

‘Boyfriend’ is… maybe not the right word for them, but ‘partners’ is a word claimed by work and their strange more-than-friendship holding pattern, and Lucifer certainly hasn’t _proposed_. Though she does plan to spend the rest of her life with him.

He tried to suggest ‘lovers’ once, on their second official date, sprawled all long and dark across a blanket on the sand. She’d looked into his dark eyes as the sea breeze tousled her hair, captivated, for a moment, by the sparkle there, and then snorted so hard she spat hundred-dollar wine all over her hand.

Chloe smiles at the memory of his ruffled indignance as she pulls into her reserved spot. His affronted face was adorable. He’s adorable, and she is allowed to notice, now. Being allowed still feels new. Allowed to notice, allowed to let her eyes linger, allowed to touch, kiss, say what she feels; she is allowed, because he is _hers_, and the warm bubble in her chest lifts her onto her toes in the elevator.

She catches her reflection on the elevator doors biting her lip, and laughs at herself. She’s being ridiculous. It’s kind of fun, though. Chloe takes a breath, settles her weight back down, and smiles as the doors slide open.

“Lucifer?” she calls into the dim penthouse, and silence greets her. She frowns a bit. He hadn’t been holding court in Lux —she’d stopped briefly on the first floor to check— and his favorite car is parked in its usual spot.

Chloe steps inside.

“I got to leave work early, so I thought I’d come by. I brought beer!” she calls, setting her six-pack on the bar. “Lucifer? You here?”

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Lucifer says from the couch. Chloe squints. It’s darker in here than usual, and she can just make out the shape of his head over the cushions. He sounds rough, raspy, as though he’s smoked and screamed and cried.

She rounds the piano. “I wanted to surprise you. Be a little spontaneous. Is it a bad time?”

He huffs, that half-laugh he only does when he’s laughing at himself. “You could say that. I’m not exactly fit for company.”

Chloe reaches the back of the couch and leans on the cushions. The back of his head is bare, red, and mottled with scars. She knows she’d see fire if he met her eyes, but he doesn’t. He is hunched, though his shoulders press into the cushions, and so do his wings. They aren’t the glorious feathers she occasionally gets to see. They’re dark, leathery, batlike, capped with vicious claws that twitch, slightly, as strands of her hair slip down her shoulder and tickle his skin.

She leans over far enough to see that his hands are clasped around an empty tumbler in his lap so tightly that his clawlike nails are digging new furrows into his abused skin.

This isn’t the first time he’s gone a bit Satan-y since his return. He’s still struggling with his self-hatred, and his time in Hell probably didn’t help. Chloe still isn’t sure what he did down there, but the light dies in his eyes when the subject comes up, and he avoids it with desperation. She lets him. That’s Linda’s fight. Usually, though, it’s just a hand, his eyes, or a swath of skin. She hasn’t seen _this_ since the day he left.

Chloe turns her head and presses a soft kiss to his temple. Lucifer stays very still, eyes on his hands.

“Rough day?” she asks.

He swallows. “Yes,” he says.

Lucifer still hasn’t leaned into her. The distance is intolerable. Chloe takes a determined breath, straightens up, and steps around the couch.

“Well, maybe it’ll get better,” she says as she takes off her boots. “We can watch a movie or something.”

He’s staring in that way of his, eyes wide. She keeps her face cheery. The fire burning in his gaze is still intimidating as hell. Chloe Decker isn’t a woman to back down, and she certainly isn’t scared of _Lucifer_, but something in the red-black fire and the flickering shadows it casts on his skin catches at the breath in her lungs and makes it shudder. The obvious solution is to plop down next to him on the couch, so she does.

“I’m not my usual charming self tonight, as you can see.” His mouth twists. “No need to babysit me. Go _enjoy_ your night. Have a drink with a friend.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. 

“I _want_ to have a drink with my _boyfriend_,” she says, “but he’s already drinking and he’s had a bad day, so”—she leans into his too-big shoulder—“I’m going to hang out with him instead. Because it seems like he could use a friend.”

How Lucifer manages to make burning eyes look wet, she will never figure out. They’re wide, and so, so close. She can feel the fire catch her breath, and it makes something _hurt_ in her chest. The smile slides from her face, but Lucifer doesn’t seem to mind.

“Chloe,” he says, low and raspy, and she kisses him.

Their lips only meet for a moment, but it eases her lungs. His nose is strange and familiar all at once pressed against hers, rough and too hot. They breathe together. She draws back to look at him, and belatedly realizes her fingers are cupping his jaw.

Lucifer takes one breath, two, then his hand tentatively covers hers.

“Is my mojo finally working on you?” he asks, confusion twisting his face.

Chloe can’t help but laugh, tears in her eyes. Satan is an _idiot_.

“No,” she says. She nods to the tumbler he’s still clutching in his other hand. “Put that glass down before you break it.”

The Devil looks down with surprise as though he’d forgotten he had another hand entirely. He leans away to set it on a side table, and Chloe takes the opportunity to wipe at her eyes a bit. She brings her legs up under her on the couch, and has her arms open when Lucifer turns back.

He shifts, clearly uncertain. She waggles her hands. His wings twitch against his shoulders. She shoots him her best expectant mom look. The corner of his mouth lifts, just slightly, and he gives in.

Lucifer is careful going into the hug, slow like the are-we-aren’t-we days of their partnership. He tucks his face into her shoulder, wraps his arms so lightly around her that it’s hardly a hold. She pulls him a bit closer, leans into his unusually huge chest. She slides one arm low, one high, careful of the batlike wings he hates. Normally, she’d play with his hair, but her fingers press circles against knots of scar tissue instead.

It’s a bit awkward with his extra height and breadth, but they make it work. She can see that he’s gone full Devil, complete with spines sticking up between his shoulder blades. They’re spikes of discolored bone, flesh twisted around their bases, as though they tore their way out of him. She’s not sure how to ask if they hurt. 

With every breath he unwinds a bit. She rubs small circles on his lower back, presses her thumb up and down his knotted neck, along the spines. His wings slowly droop and spread, crammed against the couch and trailing on the floor. He dares to hold her tighter, almost firmly, and she rewards him with a kiss to the back of his skull. He makes a noise that could be a hum, but rolls through her bones like a distant earthquake.

They stay like that for a while.

It’s nice. It always feels more real when he’s in her arms, her boyfriend The Devil, Lucifer Morningstar _hers to hold_. He radiates heat like this, like sidewalk that’s been in the sun all day. 

Eventually his weight on her shoulder turns uncomfortable, and her legs start to go numb. Chloe rests her cheek against his misshapen skull and says, “Hey, you know what we could do?”

If he uses words in response, they’re lost in the muffled rumble of his voice against her blouse. 

“We should put on a movie and then ignore it and make out on your couch.” Kissing him always cheers her up, and he clearly needs a pleasant distraction. 

Lucifer makes a disgruntled noise and pulls away, sitting up. He’s staring at her again, the stare that says I-don’t-understand-this-human-behaviour. 

“Surely you just want to Netflix without the Chill,” he says, brows lowered in confusion.

Chloe unfolds her legs and stretches, arms toward the sky. 

“Nope,” she says, “I’m here for the Chill.”

His wings scrunch behind him like they’re trying to crawl into his back. 

“Detective,” he says, “I would be perfectly content to sit at your side. There’s no need to subject yourself to this.” 

Lucifer waves vaguely at himself, as though he’s repulsive. As though she doesn’t want to press a kiss to every scar on his body. 

Chloe stares at him for a moment, searching for words. Some of this is her fault, she knows, for her reaction the first time around, but does he really think so little of himself that just because he’s having a day where he’s not pretty she wouldn’t want— What is she thinking, of _course_ he hates himself that much. The evidence of his self-hatred in this moment is twisted across his chest, shaping his entire body. How is Satan such an _idiot?_

Lucifer takes her thoughtful moment for agreement and shifts to face the television instead.

“It was a kind thought, but we agreed not to _lie_ about our feelings,” he says, and she yanks the remote out of his hand.

“_Shut up,_ you _idiot_,” Chloe snarls, and lunges forward to kiss his stupid, stupid face.

“_Detecti_-mph!” Lucifer shouts as she bowls him over sideways into the arm of the couch. 

His stupid big shoulders make him stupidly topheavy so that when his stupid idiot brain is distracted hating himself, he’s easy enough to topple. Her teeth clack against his once or twice as she climbs over and clutches at his head, furious. 

She bites his lip once, hard, and he squirms underneath her.

A wing flaps and something shatters onto the floor. It’s not important.

What’s important is pinning him down with her elbows and knees so the idiot can’t run away and deny this. 

She lets up for a moment to catch a breath, and he starts to say something that will be _extremely dumb,_ so she slaps a hand over his mouth and presses her teeth to his throat. 

He goes still. His adam’s apple bobs between her teeth. He has a free arm, now, but he’s stopped squirming. She pants against his throat for a moment, gathering herself before she sits up to look at him.

His eyes are _fire_. She shudders with the force of it. 

“Of _course_ I want you, idiot,” Chloe clears her throat, choking tears back. “I know you’re having a bad time today, but I don’t _lie_ to you. Not ever again. So just, just stop saying _stupid shit,_ and tell me if _you_ want to-.” She waves her free hand between them. 

In retrospect, the whole tackling and biting thing was a little excessive, but it’s so hard to get him to _listen_ when he’s like this, and the rage and sorrow are still shaking her as she breathes. 

Chloe lifts her hand.

Lucifer’s mouth works for a moment, testing words he wants to say. He swallows again. She waits. 

“Chloe,” he says, “I-” and he loses his words again, staring into her eyes. He raises a shaky hand to her hair, where it hangs between them. 

She sits back a bit and takes his hand in both of hers. Raises it to her lips, brushes a kiss against his warped knuckles. His deep breath lifts her and lowers her. 

“I _always_ want you.”

He brings his other hand up to close around hers, and she presses her forehead to their intertwined fingers for a moment; a benediction. He wipes a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

Chloe raises her head, smiles down at him, and says, “Come up here so I can kiss you.”

His laugh shakes her as he sits up. “Going to bite me some more, Detective?”

She snorts as she pulls him closer, settling her thighs across his. 

“Maybe. If you ask nicely.”

It takes them a while to find a rhythm. Kissing Lucifer is usually effortless self-propelled art, like ballroom dancing with a master who will lift you through the steps you don’t know. Now his shoulders are too wide, his neck too thick, chest too deep, and he is so, so careful with his claw-nails and his teeth. He’s held her with care before, but now he handles with care, like she’s fine china and he’s terrified of chipping her. 

Chloe takes her time and learns him all over again. She finds the scars on his lips, the worrying one that runs down his tongue, trails her fingers through the divots and craters of his ravaged skin. His hatred has twisted his bones, given him more muscle and withered it at the same time. There’s a spot by his clavicle, a hollow of scar tissue like an old bullet wound, where she can slip her tongue _under_ the bone. His whole chest jumps when she tries it- she asks if it hurts, and he tells her it’s ticklish. 

His touches are light but firm enough not to tickle. His palms are brushes of heat on her shoulders, against her waist. They move her hair back over her shoulder, slide up to cup her jaw. He leaves a hand pressed to the back of her neck and she melts, loose-limbed and languid. 

“Y’r like a sexy heat pack,” she says against the wax-textured skin on his shoulder, and he laughs. It’s a bit of a spooky laugh, raspy and deep with reverb, but she smiles with him. It’s good to hear. 

He fixes her hair and kisses her temple, her jaw. She wriggles an arm up between them to work on the buttons of her blouse. It’s hard to focus on the fiddly buttons with warm lips trailing across her throat. Lucifer’s careful exploration of her neck is interrupted when she shrugs off her top, and he sits back to look at her with red-black eyes. 

She makes him vulnerable enough that his lips are swollen from her kisses and nips, which makes them look oddly lopsided where scars interrupt. She takes one of his hands and directs it behind her, presses it against the clasp of her bra. Lucifer’s gaze trails fire down to her chest. The clasp comes undone, unlocking itself under his flat palm. His eyes snap back up at her giggle, and she gets to watch him smile.

It’s the smile he saves for her, the soft, bewildered one, and it shines like sunlight through his face. 

The combination of sunshine and hellfire is intoxicating and so, so warm. Chloe slips her bra off and tosses it to the side, and his hands drift to her breasts without direction. His palms are burn-smooth and scar-rough, and even the lightest pass of his fingers catches against her skin. She leans into the warmth of his hands, covers them with her own.

“It’s alright,” she says, shifting her hips closer up his thighs, “you can play with them. I know you like to.”

Lucifer dips his head and meets her lips with a kiss as he rolls her nipples side to side. “Darling,” he says against her mouth, “you’ll tell me if these- nails catch you wrong?” He gives her breasts a testing squeeze and her breath stutters. She can feel that those claw-nails are sharper than they looked, like ten little knives pressed ever-so-gently against her skin. 

“So far they’re only catching me right,” she says, “but yeah, of course.” Chloe pauses, tilts her head up to look the Devil in the eye. “Those nails are _not_ going inside me, though.”

Lucifer makes a choking noise.

“What?! Of _course_ not—”

“They’re just too sharp,” Chloe explains.

“I would _never_—”

“The texture on your fingers, though—” 

“—touch you like _this_.”

“—is really nice.”

They pause, looking at each other in mutual confusion. 

“You _like_ the texture?” he asks, thumbs swiping back and forth over her nipples.

“Yes,” Chloe says, “it’s very... yes. You’d never touch me like this?” 

She can feel the hardness in his pants under her. She’s felt it for a while now. He obviously wants to take things slowly, if at all, but she thought…

“I didn’t think you’d want anything below the belt,” Lucifer says, “not when I’m... monstrous.”

Chloe feels hurt build in her chest that has nothing to do with the hellfire in his eyes. She reaches out to gather up his ragged face and tilts into it with a soft kiss. 

“When I look at you, I don’t see a monster,” she says. “I just see you.”

Lucifer blinks, and his hands squeeze.

“I know,” he says, voice so low it rumbles through her chest. 

Chloe bites her lip in thought for a moment, and sees his eyes dart to her mouth. She swivels her hips down against him once, twice.

Lucifer makes a noise in the back of his throat and latches onto her waist with his hands, eyes bright.

“I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t feel ready for,” Chloe says, because he says it so frequently to her, when they’re considering something new in her (comparatively) limited experience. He’s always so _kind,_ offering without pushing, listening without judging. She trails a hand down from his face, across his distorted ribs, down, down to his belt buckle. He’s so still that it’s hard to tell if he’s breathing. She presses her face closer, nose to nose, until she can feel his breaths.

“This might be something new we could explore together?” she says, then, losing her nerve, babbles, “only if you’re up for it. I know you don’t like yourself like this, I just, it’s, you’ve had a bad day and I want to make you feel good. Do you think it would feel good?”

He takes a gulp of air as though he’s drowning, quick and desperate.

“Yes,” he says, _"Chloe,_ yes.” 

Lucifer pulls her into a sloppy kiss full of heat, and she fumbles his buckle open and whips his belt away. It clatters into something across the room. Neither of them notice.

Lucifer is too busy trying to wrap himself tightly around the love of his life, wings included, and Chloe is too busy trying to get their pants off while she’s wrapped up like a burrito in Devil. It takes them several minutes of heated kissing and fumbling to realize they’re working against each other. 

Chloe, frustrated, eventually grabs his hands and slaps them onto her waistband. 

“Just tear them off,” she says, and Lucifer happily rips her trousers apart. The halves are more sliced to ribbons than pulled apart at the seams, due to his unfortunate manicure situation, but it achieves the goal.

His distraction shaking the fabric off his hands gives Chloe the chance to finally pull his pants down, and his dick bobs up in freedom.

Chloe freezes for a moment, staring. 

Lucifer follows her gaze and tenses up like a rock. 

There are a few moments of silence, as they each come to terms with the fact that, rather like his entire torso, the Devil’s cock is… scaled up. 

Chloe tentatively reaches out and wraps her hand around it. Lucifer twitches.

“This is... a lot. I mean, you’ve always been big, and this isn’t _so_ much bigger, but with the, uh, the ridges, that’s... a lot.”

“I’d never looked. I didn’t want to know,” Lucifer says, “you don’t have to—”

Chloe pumps her hand up and down once. Lucifer cuts himself off with a strangled sound.

“I think it’s doable,” Chloe says, biting her lip in thought, “but I’d like to be in charge until I’m comfortable with it.”

“Of course,” Lucifer says earnestly, “I am at your service, Detective. Do unto me your will.” 

Lucifer’s eyes flicker brighter with her laugh.

Chloe slides off the couch and settles down on her knees, contemplating. She knows there’s lube in the nightstand next to the couch (and on Lucifer’s writing desk, and under the bar, and single-serve packets taped under most of the statues), but she’s already soaking her underwear, and she’s used to taking his more human dick on a regular basis. He always takes a bit of stretching to be comfortable. As long as nothing else here is a surprise, it should be doable with a little patience.

She doesn’t feel very patient. But this is something new, and she needs to survey the scene and do her research before she makes a call.

Chloe reaches out and places her hands on Lucifer’s knobbly, sinewy knees. She looks up at him and gently nudges his legs wider, wider, until she has space to work. He takes slow, shuddering breaths as he spreads for her. He hasn’t lost much flexibility in this body, at least.

She slides her hands up his thighs and leans in for a good look at the main show. 

The devil’s dick is the same messy red as the rest of him, though it grows darker up the shaft, rather like the knotted flesh at the base of his spinal spikes. It has the same length as his usual dick, but it’s curved up more and wider all the way through. There are ridges along the shaft, overlapping knotted scar tissue that takes the girth up a notch and looks… _very_ textured. She runs her hand along the ridges, up and down, and they don’t catch at her skin, they aren’t rough, but they aren’t exactly smooth, either. The scarring is more pronounced further down the shaft, and ends in a mess of twisted sinew that seems to have merged his balls.The foreskin she’s used to seems to be melted off like the rest of his soft surfaces, and the head is misshapen and waxy in texture, burn-victim smooth. 

Lucifer makes a soft, low sound when she runs her thumb firmly over the waxy head, and Chloe glances up at him.

He’s staring down at her, legs wide, mouth slightly parted, and she suddenly needs to kiss him, so she presses her lips to his thigh.

“Like what you see?” he asks, voice shaky.

She gently cups the scarred mess of his balls.

“Seems like a fun challenge so far,” she says, and his lips pull into a smile. 

“Can you feel... how’s the sensation?” Chloe asks, and licks up his shaft as a test.

Lucifer’s left wing slaps out so fast it launches a throw pillow off the couch.

“Great,” he says, “different, fuzzier and sharper... do that again?”

Chloe smiles, takes one of his hands, and settles it in her hair. It usually takes Lucifer longer to reach orgasm, (damn celestial stamina, blessed skilled fingers), and she doesn’t think it’d be comfortable to take this much dick for that long. Thankfully, there’s a solution for that.

“Lucifer,” she says in her best Detective voice, “stay still for me. Don’t move.”

She sees him swallow once, hard, before she swallows something hard. 

Chloe’s not going for the whole hog here- she’s managed his length a few times, but it takes time and effort, and it’s not very comfortable. She wraps one hand around the base of his shaft to stroke, and goes to town on the last few inches with lips, tongue, and enthusiasm.

The little twitches his thighs get are very visible in this form as his muscles jump and contract against each other, sinew sliding around, and it’s a bit disturbing to look at. Chloe closes her eyes and focuses on the sounds. Lucifer’s never been quiet about his pleasure, and he makes some absolutely lovely noises when he’s trying to hold still for a blowjob. 

His breath comes faster and harder; the way he moans on a long pull, deeper than usual, reverberates through her body; the little pants he does when she interrupts the rhythm to suck on his head; the way he says _“yes, Detective, yes, I’ll be good, I’ll be good for you,”_ so softly, as if he’s telling himself to stay still. 

His hand rests on her head, moving with her, never moving her. She swaps hands and trails her slicker thumb down to rub his perineum, getting oh so close to his asshole and then sliding up again. Lucifer’s voice drops lower and lower until it’s like kneeling in front of a bass booster vibrating through her.

Chloe’s mouth, already tender from their extended kissing, starts to ache. The heat of him almost feels like it’s chapping her lips. She keeps it up for just a bit longer, until his gnarled feet start tapping against the floor. 

If she wanted to get him off, she’d pick up the pace; but she has other plans.

Chloe backs off and gives him one last long lick for good luck.

His knees twitch as she stands, and his hands grasp at his thighs.

“Detective,” he says, voice rumbling, “may I move?”

“Not-” Chloe clears her throat, “not yet. You’re doing so well, Lucifer,” she says as she struggles out of her soaked underwear. “You can use your hands, but I want to feel you inside me.” He doesn’t seem to have an objection to that as she climbs back onto the couch, scooting close to bracket his hips with her knees. His hot hands ghost over her shoulders, her breasts, her waist, and settle on her hips. 

She gives him a kiss hello and he returns it so filthily that she forgets what she’s doing for a moment, until his dick brushes against her thigh. 

Chloe braces a hand on the convenient shelf of his collarbone, and reaches between them with the other to grasp him. She slides herself against his dick, feeling the texture, slicking him up.

Lucifer whispers, “_Fuck_ you’re wet,” and they’re so close that the boom from his chest on _fuck_ stutters her heart. 

She looks down at him, the Devil splayed across the cushions. His voice shakes souls and throws demons back to Hell. He can stop a car with his bare hands, toss a grown man across the room with a flick of his wrist, burn guilt and fear into a soul with the fire in his eyes, and when she presses the head of his dick against her cunt he freezes with the effort of staying still. She asked him, so he will; because he loves her. 

Chloe stares into the fire of his eyes as she tilts her hips just so and slowly, ever so slowly, slides down onto him. When his head finally slips in the jolt sends electricity up her spine. He echoes her gasp and, as she descends, starts a low thrum of a moan that shivers the air between them. He’s a stretch, just barely slick enough. There’s no point where she hits a smooth glide, there’s just a heat, a weight, ripples of scar tissue tugging her softly to one side or the other, a building burn. It matches the fire spreading across the black of his eyes. It pushes the air from her lungs, consumes her breath. 

She lets go of his shaft, confident he’ll stay put, and clutches his shoulders for support. Her thighs are shaking. He grasps her hips more firmly and takes her weight, slows her descent.

“Breathe,” Lucifer says, “breathe,” and the impact of his voice pushes her lungs into action. 

When her thighs finally touch his and she settles around the last inch of him, she’s breathing hard against his chest in time with his voice. 

Chloe wraps her arms around his neck and leans forward, clenching around the shift in angle. His breath stutters.

“I’ve got you,” she tells him, and kisses his nose, his cheek, his lips.

Lucifer slides his hands back to her ass and holds her.

“All right?” he asks, voice going straight to her clit.

“Yeah,” Chloe says, smiling, “yeah.” She tenses around him, relaxes, grinds a little to feel things out.

“You’re _killing_ me here,” Lucifer whines, and she rolls her eyes. 

“Might need a little lube to go faster than ‘very slow’,” she admits, thinking, and he nods.

“You can move,” Chloe says, “just grab us lube, too? I... I’d really like to feel you _fuck_ me.” 

The noise Lucifer makes as he slides them over to the end table is nothing like words, and everything like a growl.

The claw on his right wing tears open a couch cushion as he stretches to grab the bottle of Gun Oil, and he snarls at it and flings the offending cushion across the room. 

Chloe clings to him, locks her ankles behind his back and grabs on to his spines.

Lucifer lowers her back to the couch, glances around for the errant throw pillow, can’t find it, and hooks an arm under her hips to support her instead. He braces his wings against couch and floor, settles his knees, and gets back to getting her off. 

Chloe gasps at the first testing thrust of his hips, a slow drag out, an inevitable weight bearing back in. Lucifer is slow and steady, his fingers gentle yet insistent on her clit, the arm taking her weight a hot line against her skin. The lube flips the burn of the Devil dicking down into a slick-tug-slick-tug, stoking a different kind of fire inside her.

There’s a tearing sound to the side, and she checks off the death of another cushion as he adjusts his wing-grip and his angle.

_Will the other one scratch the floor?_ She thinks, and then Lucifer hits his adjusted angle perfectly and she stops thinking at all.

There’s just heat, weight, pressure building, air shaking, a low rumble of rolling thunder, her hands aching, the rasp of his skin, the fire in his eyes spilling from his iris to his sclera to his face, burning in her belly, her skin growing tight, the air too heavy, too thin, a distant babbling voice, thunder building and the heat hits her faster and faster— lightning lights her up from inside.

She’s vaguely aware of shouting, of being wrapped in heat as she writhes, of the thunder growing so loud it cracks open her chest and brings the sky down, heavy, on top of her.

Chloe starts identifying sounds properly again with the breathing next to her ear.

She pieces shapes together in the dim light. Lucifer’s wings seem to be wrapped around them, a swelteringly hot leather cocoon. His face is mashed into the cushion beside hers. He’s a hot, heavy weight on top of her, but he’s angled slightly toward the back of the couch, and it gives her enough space to breathe.

She jabs the Devil in the ribs. 

“Lucifer,” wow, her voice is hoarse, “Lucifer, come back to Earth and get off me.”

He rumbles something unintelligible, and starts shifting slightly, coming to his senses.

She knows he’s properly awake when he pops up onto his elbows, flares his wings out behind him, and looks her anxiously in the face.

Chloe takes in a grateful breath.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says, and smiles. “You just rocked me out of this world.”

His face does something complicated.

“Got your rocks off into another dimension?”

“Fucked me into next Tuesday.”

“No! A whole week without you?! Who will tell me to wear gloves at crime scenes?!”

She jabs him in the ribs again.

“Ow! De_tec_tive, is that any way to treat the Devil that just gave you an earth-shattering orgasm?”

“Well,” she says, “couch-shattering, at least.”

He lifts his head and looks around.

“Oh no,” he says, “not the Italian leather!”

Chloe stretches a bit beneath him, feeling the glow of a good time rolling through her aches.

“Worth it,” she says. “Fucking the Devil’s just not without risk, I guess.”

He looks down at her, serious again. “Risk to couches,” he says softly, “never to you.”

She reaches up and pets his sweet cheek. “I know,” she replies.

Then she stretches her arms out and slaps his sweeter cheeks.

“C’mon, get up! I gotta go pee.”

He makes a show of sighing, but gets off and courteously helps her up. Her legs betray her halfway and she falls back down on the couch.

“Or maybe in a minute, my legs are _Jell-O_.”

Lucifer looks at her fondly, fire flickering in the bounds of his irises again. 

“I’ll go get you something to clean up a bit,” he says, “and we’ll wait on your legs.”

“Thanks, Lucifer.”

Chloe watches him fondly as he turns and strides for the bathroom. It’s nice that he’s not trying to make himself small.

Maybe next time he has a terrible day he won’t hide from her.

Unfortunately, Lucifer steps on the shattered remains of the glass tumbler halfway to the bathroom.

Chloe sighs, struggles to her feet, and goes to grab the first aid kit.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first smutfic and only the second fic I've published, so throw any suggestions for future improvement, thoughts, reactions, or judgments down in the comments. A BIG thank you to Obli and FlowerFiend for helping me wrangle the knots out of this fic.


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